


your tears resemble snowflakes (I can't say anything mine are icicles)

by orphan_account



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Killua does not fear the cold, M/M, Sad hearts, he hopes he can save him in time, reckless, seventeen just barely, snowy days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 18:11:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8255468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It is a dry defeat; the kind where Killua's heart travels up his throat until he is dry heaving into the snow with nothing coming out.





	

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Rating:  
Teen And Up Audiences  
Archive Warning:  
No Archive Warnings Apply  
Category:  
M/M  
Fandom:  
Hunter X Hunter  
Relationships:  
Gon Freecs/Killua ZoldyckGon Freecs & Killua ZoldyckKillugon - Relationship  
Characters:  
Killua ZoldyckGon FreecsAunt Mitto  
Additional Tags:  
like hell to writeSnowKillugon - Freeformkillua - FreeformGon - FreeformGon has a heart 3 sizes too bigKillua has too small of a heartKillua feels defeat in a dry wayGon doesn't like the snow  
Language:  
English  
Stats:  
Published:2016-08-18Words:1343Chapters:1/1Comments:1Kudos:15Bookmarks:2Hits:177  
your tears look like snowflakes (but I can't say anything, mine are icicles)  
cookievalkyrie

Summary:  
Now Gon just wishes that this snow would relent or he could be found by his friend because despite his feeble heart, Gon made sure to have dug a hole where it hurts most so that forgetting won't be an option.  
Notes:  
(See the end of the work for notes.)  
Work Text:

Gon can't bring himself to like the snow. It is too cold for his summer bones and much too gusty. The cold makes him shiver in his boots and taunts him of his weaknesses.

What if he gets lost? Maybe there's no way out of this forest and Gon has to shuffle along with snow up to his thighs until hypothermia catches him in an embrace so cold yet so warm that Gon won't have the power or might to fear death any longer.

He wants no enemies when he's dead.

An over statement, really, because Gon has the rare habit of drawing the inner jealousy out of others. He goes around like some guru and talks to the homeless: the broken, beaten, and barely alive, releasing their burdens to the wind so they can sprout wings and fly away. The jealousy follows, waiting until Gon's back is turned to the relief-stricken ones.

Jealousy implants into their hearts like some kind of voice whispering how it could be so easy and how, despite countless treatments, doctors, and family support, only Gon could shed that one sliver of light that they needed to grip onto like a ladder to crawl themselves up from the well of misery.

He stays to himself, so enemies are bound to cross paths once in a while, and despite the feeling of self-pity Gon casts upon himself, his enemies--dare Gon say it. It twists his heart enough for him to clutch to his shirt like its being ripped straight from his chest--are never considered enemies. Yet, they beat down on him until Gon is drowning in an ocean of blue and black spots, eyes glittering with unshed rage and hands shaking from disappointment in himself and he struggles to the brink of screaming out to just kneel in the puddle of his self-worth.

He can't help it afterwards, heaving himself to his feet to stand as tall as he can and walking on like this never happened. His Aunt would say to walk it off with a reassuring pat to counteract her words. This never happened. It all never happened. Nothing has happened, Gon, you're okay. Just continue on. (His heart echoes because has a heart three sizes too big.)

It explains why he can't just sit and watch as people are being slammed into walls with beer bottles clanking from around the corner. He was raised like that, young eyes already despising the beer drinkers that came late to his Aunt's bar and hollered until their beer-bellies shook and plump noses drooled.

His heart is cultured by his father for leaving before his first gurgle and mother for running away from responsibility, and it breaks a little with every common-day deception casted his way. It keeps him in line, that is for sure. Gon has no real reason to want worse troubles.

The snow reminds Gon of a watery face with eyes older than time itself, and the snowflakes remind Gon of the tears his greatest friend with a heart too small once cried with an openness that left Gon stunned to a silence. They land on Gon's fingers the same way they did that day.

The same day that Gon felt his heart take on another burden.

Now Gon just wishes that this snow would relent or he could be found by his friend because Gon knows, that despite the feeble heart of his friend, he made sure to have dug a hole where it hurts most so that forgetting won't be an option.

At least Gon hopes so as his legs fail him. When his legs feel like they aren't even a part of his body, Gon prays that they will soldier on, yet sits in the biting cold, unable to do a thing. Should he wait out the storm? There is no sort of shelter for miles and Gon can't see more than three feet.

His heart aches because he already knows his fate, which is the scariest part. Dying was always bypassed with Gon because he had found a great fondness towards the thought of death, and wonders who wouldn't. It never occurred to him that death could seize his heart before he actually died, and that you just knew when it would do exactly that.

Shoulders sagging and heart relishing in the tickle of death, Gon sways with the wind, arms limp and legs numb with icicle tears falling to his thighs.

Gon knows that he isn't the strongest man in the world, hell, he just became seventeen so he can't be considered a man, but he never imagined a snow filled grave with his name scribbled over it in bubble letters. Aren't the young supposed to live until they are old?

With the slow thrumming of his heart, Gon's ear shutoff and his eyes flutter. He smiles in death, yet breathes small huffs as his body flops to the side.

A calm fate for a calm heart.

Hands colder than the storm grapple to Gon's shoulders, a desperate voice willing Gon to stay while feverishly running their hands to find his pulse. Killua is too used to the cold to care and he slings his jacket around Gon, slapping Gon's cheeks until the deathly pale turns red but to no response.

Killua, the one with too small of a heart, screams for his accompaniers to help. Gon can't leave yet. No. Not when Gon's smile is the only sun that Killua will ever need. Not when Killua's heart screams Gon's name like it's holy and Killua needs to be forgiven because he does.

Gon cannot end this way, not in some snow storm that matches the color of Killua's hair or with icicle tears that are the same color of his eyes. It'd feel too much like Killua was killing Gon instead of the storm itself.

Not yet. Not yet.

As his rescuers arrive, Killua heaves Gon into his arms with so much care that his too small heart cries, throwing punches at his ribcage for trying to keep it there and the others discard their jackets onto Gon until he doesn't look like himself. With the slow huffs of breath, Gon continues his slumber, head resting heavily on Killua's shoulder and Killua has no time to complain like he usually does when Gon would take a surprise nap.

Running to save his sunlight and source of energy, Killua slams into the town in ten minutes flat with pleading eyes and a voice so scratched that help comes before his assistants do. Screaming in his heart, Killua slowly falls to the ground shaking and breaths coming in short pants.

This is just a small taste, Killua's too small heart cries as Gon is taken away from him, and Killua forbids this numbing feeling in his mind from ever coming back.

Gon will be okay.

Killua stares with shining eyes as Gon's hand dangles in the wind while the other is folded across his stomach, and wishes for that earth-shattering smile to come back one more time.

He's a fighter.

But all Killua can feel as the door to the medical hut closes is an overwhelming sense of defeat. Not the wet kind, where your heart climbs its way into your eyes and you are stuck bawling for days with bitterness laced in your tone.

No, it is a dry defeat. The one where Killua's heart travels up his throat until he is dry heaving into the snow with nothing coming out.

Gon. Killua chokes on his thoughts because he can't let them go out and be free like the birds they are because they'll freeze in the cold. Just like Gon. The others surround Killua with worry. In a pitiful attempt to stop his heaves, he slams his fists into the snow, the snowflake tears falling. He is like a rock as the others try to lift him into the medical station.

Gon can't physically feel Killua's tears, but just knows that they are far prettier than the snowflakes outside.


End file.
